


On Wooing a Know-It-All

by madeof_it



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: F/M, Presents, Unrequited Love, Wooing
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-06-26
Updated: 2014-06-26
Packaged: 2018-02-06 09:09:31
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,260
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1852465
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/madeof_it/pseuds/madeof_it
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Cormac McLaggen is having a hard time in wooing Hermione Granger</p>
            </blockquote>





	On Wooing a Know-It-All

He'd started with flowers, partly because he thought every girl liked those, and partly because Neville Longbottom had conveniently set up shop in the building next door to his flat. It was convenient, and he had the advantage of his soft-spoken fellow-Gryffindor advising him on what plant would send the best message. Together, they'd settled on Honeysuckle.

When Cormac awkwardly thrust the bouquet of small, white flowers at her, one of Hermione's eyebrows had arched with a calculated suspicion. Of course she'd know what they represented. She knew everything.

"Love and generosity, McLaggen?" she'd murmured. "That's what you'd give me?"

With a flick of her curly hair, she'd spun on her heels and left, the clutch of greenery dangling carelessly from her slim fingers.

 _Love and generosity!?_ , he'd thought angrily. He'd get Neville for that -- he'd picked them solely for their name, the seductive and obscene sound of it thrumming through his blood as he imagined that combination of words paired with the body of one Hermione Granger.

After that, there had been a string of other gifts he'd sent her way. There was the finest of Honeydukes' chocolate baskets, a deep blue gown from Madam Malkin's, a voucher for a few books from Flourish & Blotts, even a Goblin-made bracelet of white gold.

To each one of his presents, she'd simply raised that damned eyebrow, uttered a soft reply, and disappeared.

Maybe he wasn't any good at this courting business.

He thought he'd gone about it the right way. After her break-up with Ron Weasley, he'd waited a few months until it seemed an appropriate mourning period had passed. He spoke with Ron (awkward as that was) in the locker room after one of their Quidditch games and received Ron's blessing in pursuing his recent-ex and forever-best-friend. He'd even talked to Harry Bloody Potter, that arrogant prat, to be sure he wasn't stepping on any toes. He'd bought her gifts, sent her flowers, clearly he'd displayed his interest enough?

Why wasn't she responding to his attempts?

A frown settled on his handsome face, and he walked to his mirror to see the furrow of his brow. Surely he was handsome enough for her. It couldn't be that they were incompatible physically. Maybe he was going about this the wrong way. Maybe Hermione Granger wasn't meant for him. Maybe she wasn't as smart as he'd thought she was, if she was willing to pass up on his interest.

That must be it. He vowed not to spend another sickle on the unappreciative witch, the decision immediately vanishing the frustrated creases on his forehead.

&&&&&&

The match had just ended, and Puddlemere had beat the Arrows by nearly one hundred points. There was raucous cheering and appreciative claps on the back for all the players, and plans were being made for a celebratory night out at the Quaffle in Hogsmeade. Wood had shouted the usual post-game motivational speech over the sound of the the showers, and Cormac had washed away the usual sweat and grime accumulated during the game, his adrenaline-fueled tension washed down the drain as he drowned out the drone of his teammates' chatter.

Getting dressed after always left him alone in the locker room. His teammates liked to tease him for the amount of effort he put into his appearance, but Cormac brushed off their words. He knew that good things took time, and if styling his hair by hand had better results than Charming it, so be it. Ron tried to hang back, but his method of toss-on-whatever's-clean left the redheaded man with too much time to sit around waiting for his friend.

Eyeing himself critically, he deemed himself finally appropriate for the outside world, slinging his broom over his shoulder and sauntering out and to the Apparition Point to meet with the rest of that night's party. He stopped short when he realized just who was lingering there, her brown eyes shining in the waning sunlight.

_Hermione Granger._

He hadn't spoken to her since she'd returned his gifts, citing that there were absolutely no material goods she was interested in receiving from him. He'd had a fun night with that: burning the blue robe, buying the most sexually explicit books he could find with the F&B vouchers, melting down the chocolate and pouring it over the dried bunch of helpless honeysuckle. He done nothing to the white gold bracelet because, even if Cormac was a heartbroken arse, he wasn't an IDIOT.

Yet here she stood, her very presence taunting him with the knowledge that she was the one girl in his entire existence that never bent to his will (or bent for him at all) -- not when he was an arrogant Seventh Year, and not when he was a mildly-less-arrogant-and-infinitely-more-mature twenty-four-year-old. He didn't like being rejected, he didn't like being made to feel stupid, and he especially didn't like feeling as lonely as he had when her presence had been cut off from his life.

Unthinkingly, he cowered in front of her, his shoulders sagging and his broom crossed in front of him as if he could use it to protect whatever scathing blow she was ready to deliver next.

Her words were both a surprise and a soothing balm to his wounded ego.

"You stopped calling on me."

When he tried to respond, she held up a small hand to stop his words.

"You won't interrupt me, not with this. You stopped calling. You disappeared. Was I really that easy to give up on?" The formerly-shielded look on her face broke to reveal a pout. "You thought highly enough of me to confront my two best friends with your intentions. They're the only family I've got these days, so declaring yourself to them was as near to asking for a betrothal as you could've gotten, and you know this. You talked to Neville Longbottom, and I'm sure you loathe him, to find out what sort of flowers would best express your interest. You got my dress measurements from Madam Malkin, you sent me chocolates, you gave me a bracelet that was a _family heirloom_. Don't look surprised, of course I'd do research to find out more about it. Gringotts was very interested in it, too, you're lucky I was able to get it out of the spiny fingers to send back to you. So tell me, Cormac McLaggen, why did you quit?"

He was speechless at her monologue, and it was a sign of his distress that he didn't realize the way his fingers raked through his hair and mussed up the styling he'd been so particular about.

With a grimace flittering across his face, he said, "You wrote that note. Said you didn't want anything to do with me."

She rolled her brown eyes, arms crossed in front of her as she stamped her feet. "If you'd read it more carefully, you'd notice that I said nothing of the sort."

A vision of the note paraded in his mind. He'd read it over and over, wrinkling the parchment with the grip of his hands, memorizing the words until they were imprinted on his brain. But he'd never actually thought about what she was saying.

Hope bloomed on his face as he thought some more, and she stepped towards him and pressed her hands to his chest.

"Cormac. I said I'd wanted no 'material goods' from you. I never said I didn't want anything else." She lifted up on her toes, and the grin crossing his mouth was lost as she pulled him into a kiss.


End file.
